


Hearts on Fire (Part Ten of "Peeping Through the Closet Door")

by OpenPage



Series: Peeping Through the Closet Door [10]
Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenPage/pseuds/OpenPage
Summary: Who is wooing who?





	1. Thank You for Loving Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ute/gifts).



> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/26550570197/in/album-72157683689305643/)
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.**
> 
> **No copyright infringement is intended.**
> 
> **Based on the TV series 21 Jump Street.**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/39612784380/in/album-72157683689305643/)

**Three weeks later**

Tom’s convalescence passed by in a haze of tedious boredom. One day blurred into the next, his only reprieve, the occasional lighthearted conversation with Blowfish. He missed the excitement of undercover ops, but more than anything, he missed Booker. With the dark-haired officer continuing to work around the clock, the two men barely spoke, let alone saw each other. But although Tom longed to spend time alone with the man who had captured his heart, his lover’s absence wasn’t the only thought occupying his mind. Over the course of several weeks, Dennis had started to exhibit telltale signs of stress, a characteristic he rarely displayed in public. Their short, clandestine phone conversations became peppered with angry expletives and impatient sighs, leaving Tom worrying about the state of his lover’s mental health. Infiltrating a gang of youths beating up gay men was taking a noticeable toll on the dark-haired officer, but despite Tom’s best efforts, he failed to get him to open up about his feelings. Whether it was an ego thing or part of an ingrained coping mechanism, he couldn’t say for certain, but whatever the reason, his lover remained stubbornly tight-lipped. And while Booker’s refusal to speak openly about the case frustrated Tom, the young officer knew it was pointless to push him too hard. Some assignments were more personal than others, and he knew all too well how different scenarios affected different officers. It was all part of the job, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry, and he longed for the day when the case was over, and he could thank Booker for all that he’d done.

And so, when Fuller finally announced Booker had successfully wrapped up his assignment after a month undercover, Tom sprang into action. Several phone calls later, his plan was in motion, and he spent the rest of the day listening to the clock loudly announcing the passage of time with each passing tick. When the hour hand struck four, he sought out Fuller and asked if he could call it a day. He still had several items to buy, and he hoped his captain wouldn’t unknowingly stand in the way of him turning a perfect weekend into an awesome one. As luck would have it, Fuller was in a charitable mood, and after receiving his superior’s blessing to leave early, Tom walked briskly to the location where he’d agreed to wait for his ride. A minute passed, then two, and he tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes anxiously scanning the street. But just when he thought his rapidly beating heart would explode out of his chest, he saw the familiar black Cadillac Brougham Limousine approach, and he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Good afternoon, Tom,” Simon greeted through the open window. “I was surprised to receive your call. I didn’t think I’d see you again after you fired me.”

Pleased his new friend had agreed to stop with the _sir_ nonsense and treat him like an ordinary Joe, Tom grinned back. “I didn’t _fire_ you, Si. I just didn’t want Dennis wasting his money on me. So, how’s it goin’? How’s Emily?”

Simon smiled. He’d spent a week driving Tom to and from the chapel, and unlike most of his clients, he’d found his passenger pleasant company. They’d chatted about their lives, and during one such discussion, he’d mentioned he was engaged to be married. To his surprise, Tom had shyly admitted he was in a relationship with Dennis, and when the revelation wasn’t met with a look of horror or quotes from the bible—i.e. _Leviticus 18:22_ —the officer had grown bolder, confessing the reason behind the unconventional limousine ride. Sensing the young man’s need to talk, Simon had lent him an attentive ear, and little by little, Tom had opened up. As his confidence grew, the young officer had readily confessed his uncertainties and fears, along with his growing affection for Booker. Simon had listened to every word, offering advice when he thought it appropriate, remaining silent when it wasn’t, and it was during these exchanges they’d cemented their friendship. There was no judgment, and it was this acceptance that had Tom believing in a brighter future, free from bigotry and the likes of Jimmy ‘The Jab’ Fitzpatrick, who ruined life for everyone.

“She’s well, thanks,” Simon replied in answer to Tom’s question. “How’s Dennis? Is he still working long hours?”

“Not anymore,” Tom grinned. “Which kinda brings me to why I hired you.”

Simon laughed. “I’m all ears. Where to first.”

“Home Depot,” Tom instructed as he climbed into the limo. “Then my apartment.”

The chauffeur tipped his cap in jest. “Yes, _sir!_ Whatever you say, _sir!”_ and with a quick check of his mirrors, he pulled out into the afternoon traffic.

**

Tom stood in Booker’s apartment, his expression that of a petulant child. “Aw, c’mon, Dennis, don’t be a spoilsport. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I wanna go out.”

Booker flopped down on the sofa, a weighty sigh exhaling from between his lips. “Hanson, I’m tired. This case has wiped me. All I wanna do is sleep until it's time for me to do it all again.”

With a beguiling smile, Tom held out his hand and beckoned with his fingers. “Gimme your keys. I’ll drive. But you need to take a shower first.”

Reaching into his pocket, Booker pulled out his keys and tossed them to Tom. “Why?” he asked, a moody pout forming on his lips. “I’m dressed okay.”

“Sorry, man, I hate to break it to you, but you stink.”

Booker lifted an arm and sniffed his armpit, a look of disgust wrinkling his nose as the stench of stale sweat assaulted his nostrils. “Yeah, okay, I get your point. Maybe a shower isn’t such a bad idea.”

“Great. Take your time. I’ll wait here.”

Tom's weird behavior barely registered in Booker’s tired mind. He was emotionally and physically exhausted, and all he wanted to do was fall into bed and put the homophobia he’d witnessed behind him. But to deny Tom was to deny his own heart, and hauling himself up off the couch, he trudged into the bathroom and closed the door.

A sly smile curled Tom’s lips, and shoving the Caddy’s keys into his pocket, he boldly walked into his lover’s bedroom. He had twenty minutes tops to set the final phase in motion. It wasn’t long, and he knew without Simon’s help, he never would have had a chance to achieve his goal. But everything was falling into place, just as he’d planned, and in a few short hours, he would reveal all.

**

The Pacific highway stretched out before Tom, its gentle snaking curves mostly devoid of traffic. To his left, the sun dipped low on the horizon, the fading rays splashing the sky above the ocean a vibrant shade of amber. Beside him, Booker dozed peacefully, unaware of the spectacular performance nature had gifted them. The dark-haired officer had drifted off the moment they’d left the city limits, the drone of the Caddy’s engine lulling his exhausted mind into a restful slumber. It was the therapeutic, dreamless sleep he needed to banish the haunting images from his memory, and although he remained unaware of the healing taking place, after weeks of stress, his mind was finally at peace.

Tom glanced at his sleeping lover, a slow, tender smile curling his lips. Even in sleep, Booker radiated a mesmerizing presence, and the young officer's heart skipped a beat. Tearing his eyes away from the captivating beauty of the dark-haired officer's face, he checked the odometer, his mind calculating the miles left to travel until they reached their destination. They were almost there, and he could feel his excitement rising. It was his turn to prove the depth of his love, and while there would be no poems, he hoped his surprise wouldn’t disappoint.

**

The final ten miles passed quickly. With thoughts of the coming weekend planted firmly in his mind, Tom pulled into a roadside office, and leaving Booker asleep in the car, he went inside. He returned several minutes later, a set of keys dangling from one hand. Climbing back into the Caddy, he started the engine and drove the short distance to a lone beachside condo. The night was almost upon them, the elongated shadows of the palm trees casting shade over the sandy beach, and pulling into a parking space, he switched off the ignition. Turning toward his lover, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the shell-like curve of his ear. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmured against the sleep-warmed flesh. “We’re here.”

At the sound of Tom’s voice, Booker opened his eyes, and wiping a hand over his mouth, he stared out into the gloom. “Where’s _here_ exactly?”

“You’ll see,” Tom replied with a grin, and getting out of the Caddy, he walked to the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk. Inside were two bulging backpacks and several brown paper bags, each crammed with assorted groceries. As Booker climbed out of the car, he tossed him a set of keys. “Open the door, and I’ll carry these.”

Sluggish and still in a sleep-induced daze, Booker’s coordination was off, and the keys fell to the ground. Tom chuckled, the soft tinkle of his laughter echoing around the deserted parking lot. “Forget it, Herman Long,” he quipped. “Just let me put these bags—”

“I can do it,” Booker pouted, and scooping up the keys, he walked over to the set of steps leading up to the condominium. “So, you didn’t answer me. Where the hell are we? I thought we were going on a date.”

There was an edge to Booker’s voice, an undeniable petulance that instantly dampened Tom’s mood. Things weren’t turning out quite as he’d hoped, but he decided to cut his lover some slack. Booker was tired, and a tired Booker was a grumpy Booker. And while it wasn’t the perfect start to the weekend, he figured all he had to do was stay calm, and everything would work out fine.

Hoisting the backpacks onto his shoulder, Tom grabbed a grocery bag in each arm and slammed down the lid of the trunk with his elbow. “Malibu,” he answered. “I leased us a condo for the weekend. I thought a few days on the coast would help you relax after… well, you know.”

Booker did know, and he immediately felt like an ungrateful asshole. Abandoning his plan to open the door, he walked over to Tom and took the two brown bags from his arms. “Did I ever tell you I can be an ungrateful sonofabitch when I’m tired?” he grinned, working his boyish charm for all it was worth. “Do you forgive me?”

“Depends,” Tom pouted.

Sensing a teasing inflection in Tom’s answer, Booker played along. “On?”

“Whether or not I get a kiss.”

Heat flared in Booker’s groin, the soft, seductive tone of his lover’s voice rippling over his flesh like waves breaking on a sandy shore. Stepping closer, he pressed his mouth against Tom’s and kissed him tenderly, the light, gentle motion of his lips conveying all the love he felt in his heart.

A low moan resonated in the back of Tom’s throat, and wrapping his arms around the dark-haired officer’s waist, he deepened the kiss... tasting, possessing, losing all conscious thought until fireworks erupted inside his head. He’d always thought a kiss was just a kiss, but with Booker, it was a sensory explosion, an erotic dance of emotion that ignited his deepest desires. Theirs was a once in a lifetime union, and it was then he knew Booker was more than just his lover. He was in every beat of his heart, the warmth of his soul, each breath he inhaled, his light, his dark, he was, in every sense of the word, his everything.

Breaking the kiss, Booker stepped back, a slow smile tilting his lips. “Maybe we should go inside before things escalate.”

At that moment, Tom wouldn’t have cared if they _had_ escalated, but he also wanted the weekend to be a memorable celebration of their love, and a quick grope in a parking lot wasn’t what he had in mind after abstaining from sex for a month. Booker deserved more, he deserved the whole enchilada, with every bell and whistle imaginable. And that’s what he had planned. If time had taught him anything, it was that he could no longer deny what his heart already knew. He was in love with Dennis, and he was prepared to show him just how much by giving him the ultimate gift, the gift of commitment and the gift of love.

Offering his lover a shy smile, Tom’s eyes motioned toward the condo. “You first, I left something in the car.”

Booker returned the smile, and with the crushed grocery bags still in his arms, he trudged up the wooden steps. Turning away, Tom walked over to the front of the Cadillac and opened the driver’s door. He leaned in and flipping open the center console, he pulled out a small box wrapped in blue paper. He stared at it for a moment before shoving it into his jacket pocket. Next, he opened the glove compartment, his heart skipping a beat as he picked up the white drugstore bag hidden inside. Cramming it in his other pocket, he closed the car door and gazed up at the light shining from the beach house window. He was ready for the next step, and although nervous, he couldn’t wait to profess his love openly, physically, emotionally, and completely to the one person who made him whole… Booker.

_To be continued…_


	2. Pandora's Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **It is becoming increasingly difficult to find the time to write. Therefore, I’ve split this part of the story into several shorter chapters. Thanks for your understanding.**
> 
> **In peace,**   
>  **OpenPage x**   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Breaking the kiss, Booker stepped back, a slow smile tilting his lips. “Maybe we should go inside before things escalate.”_
> 
> _At that moment, Tom wouldn’t have cared if they _had_ escalated, but he also wanted the weekend to be a memorable celebration of their love, and a quick grope in a parking lot wasn’t what he had in mind after abstaining from sex for a month. Booker deserved more, he deserved the whole enchilada, with every bell and whistle imaginable. And that’s what he had planned. If time had taught him anything, it was that he could no longer deny what his heart already knew. He was in love with Dennis, and he was prepared to show him just how much by giving him the ultimate gift, the gift of commitment and the gift of love._
> 
> _Offering his lover a shy smile, Tom’s eyes motioned toward the condo. “You first, I left something in the car.”_
> 
> _Booker returned the smile, and with the crushed grocery bags still in his arms, he trudged up the wooden steps. Turning away, Tom walked over to the front of the Cadillac and opened the driver’s door. He leaned in and flipping open the center console, he pulled out a small box wrapped in blue paper. He stared at it for a moment before shoving it into his jacket pocket. Next, he opened the glove compartment, his heart skipping a beat as he picked up the white drugstore bag hidden inside. Cramming it in his other pocket, he closed the car door and gazed up at the light shining from the beach house window. He was ready for the next step, and although nervous, he couldn’t wait to profess his love openly, physically, emotionally, and completely to the one person who made him whole… Booker._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/40053723400/in/dateposted-public/)

Tom entered the condo, the little blue box burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket. A shiver of nervous energy tingled his hands and toes. He was about to propose something he’d never considered before, and the prospect made him anxious. What if he was turned down or worse, laughed at? But despite his anxiety, he wasn’t about to chicken out. He’d spent several sleepless nights working through the pros and cons, and he’d eventually concluded he was ready to embark on a new chapter in his life. If he and Booker were to move forward in their relationship, they needed to take the steps toward a solid commitment. Otherwise, in all likelihood, they would continue to dance the dating dance forever. And that's where the mystery box came in. Inside was a promissory key, and he hoped it would not only open Booker’s heart, but it would also prove to the dark-haired officer once and for all, he wanted him in his life.

Stopping in the doorway, a slow, loving smile tilted his lips. Booker stood looking out the large glass doors, the sun’s dying rays creating a halo of light around his muscular body. Tom’s stomach somersaulted, a burst of pure love heating his face. Any reservations he had flowed from his body along with the evening tide. He was ready. All he had to do was pluck up the courage, and his and Booker’s life would become as one.

“Great view, huh?” 

Booker turned, a cheeky grin lighting up his beautiful face. “I like the view in here _much_ better,” he teased. “Now, c’mere. I wanna taste those sweet Tommy lips.”

Blood rushed to Tom’s face, and ducking his head, he attempted to hide the unwelcome heat flushing his cheeks. Booker had a knack for making him feel like a giddy teenager, and he wished he didn’t dissolve into a blushing, stuttering fool every time his lover paid him a compliment. Their time away was a chance for him to shower Booker with love, and he hoped he wouldn’t ruin it by acting like a fool.

From across the room, a low chuckle broke the silence. “Damn, Hanson, you really are adorable. Now, come over here and gimme some sugar.” 

Tom’s nose wrinkled in mock disgust, and moving forward, he stopped in front of his lover. “Give you some sugar? _Really?_ Is _that_ how you think you’re gonna get in my pants.”

A sly smile curled the corners of Booker’s lips, and resting his hands on Tom’s narrow hips, he replied with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re gonna _let_ me in your pants?”

Moving closer, Tom brushed his lips over Booker’s enticing pout. “Maybe,” he murmured against the plump flesh. “If you play your cards right.”

“Is that an invitation?” Booker whispered between soft kisses.

Tom smiled into the kiss, and grabbing hold of Booker’s buttocks, he pressed his body closer. “Mmm, it might be.”

Feeling a hardness pushing against him, Booker lovingly nibbled Tom’s lower lip. “Is that something in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

It was the perfect opportunity for Tom to set his plan in motion and taking a step back, he gazed into Booker’s dark eyes. “Actually,” he replied with a self-conscious smile. “I do have something in my pocket. It’s kind of a gift… for you.”

Excitement lit a spark in Booker’s eyes. “A gift? Baby, you shouldn’t have. Now gimme!”

The _thump-thump-thumpity-thump_ of his heart sent violent tremors through Tom’s fingers, and he struggled for several moments before finally managing to free the small blue box from his pocket. He held it in his hand for several seconds, the enormity of what he was about to do temporarily rendering him speechless. But when he met Booker’s loving gaze, what remained of his fears and doubts slowly evaporated, and taking a deep breath, he held out the box. “It’s not really a gift,” he confessed with a shy smile. “It’s more a symbol of how I feel about you. How I feel about _us.”_

Intrigued, Booker took the box and moved over to the couch. Perching on the edge of the wide leather cushion, he turned the box over in his hand. “It’s not gonna explode or anything, is it?” 

Tom gave a nervous laugh. “Just open it.”

With his curiosity piqued to fever pitch, Booker carefully unwrapped the box, and with the imaginary sound of a drum roll playing in his head, he opened the lid.

Inside, nestled in pale blue tissue paper, lay a key. Booker’s hand tightened around the box, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, he just continued to stare at the ‘gift’ Tom assumed was a symbol of their relationship.

“Um, it’s the key to my apartment.”

“I can see that.” 

Confused by his lover’s reaction, Tom attempted to explain himself. “It’s so you can come and go as you please.”

Unable to contain his annoyance, Booker’s eyebrows drew into a displeased frown. “So, you’re ready to tell Penhall and the others about us, are you?”

The question took Tom by surprise, and a glimmer of uncertainty crossed his face. “Well, er, no. Not yet. I thought we—”

“You thought _WHAT,_ Hanson?” Booker spat, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “That we could coordinate my visits so they didn’t interfere with your _other_ life? Are we going to set up a schedule? Monday’s a Penhall-free-zone so it’s safe for me to come over? Is that how this is gonna work? And what if he _does_ show up on a Monday. Do I hide in the bedroom until he leaves? Well, gee. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m sick of being your dirty little secret. Call me when you’re ready to come out of the closet.”

Hurt by his lover’s reaction, Tom lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“You _never_ think!” Booker exploded in a fit of exasperation. “You’re so caught up in your own world, you didn’t even consider _my_ feelings. What a fucking surprise! Everything’s always about you. Well, not this time, _lover._ This time I’m not putting up with your bullshit. _This_ time, I’m putting myself first.”

The term _lover_ had an obvious sarcastic ring to it, the cutting tone slicing a deep wound through Tom’s heart. But despite his pain, the young officer made no attempt to defend himself. Everything Booker said was true, except the part about not thinking through his idea. He _had_ thought it through, but only from his point of view, and he hoped his inconsiderate action wouldn't have any long-lasting repercussions. It was obvious Booker wanted their relationship out in the open, but as much as he loved him, Tom knew he wasn’t ready to give in to his demand. And therein lay the sticking point. They were trapped in a never-ending cycle of resistance, and until one of them capitulated, they would never move forward.

Throwing the box onto the couch, Booker stood up. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”

Too embarrassed to meet his lover’s angry glare, Tom continued to stare at the floor. “I _really_ am sorry.”

“Save it,” Booker muttered, and striding past Tom, he walked out the door.


	3. Beaten to the Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Unable to contain his annoyance, Booker’s eyebrows drew into a displeased frown. “So, you’re ready to tell Penhall and the others about us, are you?”_
> 
> _The question took Tom by surprise, and a glimmer of uncertainty crossed his face. “Well, er, no. Not yet. I thought we—”_
> 
> _“You thought _WHAT,_ Hanson?” Booker spat, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “That we could coordinate my visits so they didn’t interfere with your _other_ life? Are we going to set up a schedule? Monday’s a Penhall-free-zone so it’s safe for me to come over? Is that how this is gonna work? And what if he _does_ show up on a Monday. Do I hide in the bedroom until he leaves? Well, gee. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m sick of being your dirty little secret. Call me when you’re ready to come out of the closet.”_
> 
> _Hurt by his lover’s reaction, Tom lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”_
> 
> _“You _never_ think!” Booker exploded in a fit of exasperation. “You’re so caught up in your own world, you didn’t even consider _my_ feelings. What a fucking surprise! Everything’s always about you. Well, not this time, _lover._ This time I’m not putting up with your bullshit. _This_ time, I’m putting myself first.”_
> 
> _The term _lover_ had an obvious sarcastic ring to it, the cutting tone slicing a deep wound through Tom’s heart. But despite his pain, the young officer made no attempt to defend himself. Everything Booker said was true, except the part about not thinking through his idea. He _had_ thought it through, but only from his point of view, and he hoped his inconsiderate action wouldn't have any long-lasting repercussions. It was obvious Booker wanted their relationship out in the open, but as much as he loved him, Tom knew he wasn’t ready to give in to his demand. And therein lay the sticking point. They were trapped in a never-ending cycle of resistance, and until one of them capitulated, they would never move forward._
> 
> _Throwing the box onto the couch, Booker stood up. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”_
> 
> _Too embarrassed to meet his lover’s angry glare, Tom continued to stare at the floor. “I’m _really_ am sorry.”_
> 
> _“Save it,” Booker muttered, and striding past Tom, he walked out the door._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/41224579704/in/dateposted-public/)

**I apologise in advance for the 'drunk-speak' :)**

**In peace,  
Openpage x**

 

Booker shuffled up the condo steps, the whiskey circulating through his system impairing his coordination. He fumbled with the door handle as he tried to push the door before remembering it opened outward. Ripping it open with unnecessary force, he stumbled into the dimly lit living area, the door slamming closed behind him. It took him a second to familiarize himself with his surroundings, and finding the room empty, he staggered toward the balcony door. Sliding it open with a bang, he faltered for a moment before staggering out into the balmy night air. 

Tom sat on a reclining Chaise Lounge, his gaze fixed on the darkness stretched out before him. The rolling sound of the ocean waves segued into the heavy rasp of Booker’s breathing and closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of salt and sand, drawing patience from their appealing bouquet. “You’ve been drinking.”

Swaying unsteadily on his feet, Booker peered at Tom through one drunken eye. “Yup. An' I gotta tell you, Hanshon, it was jush the thing I needed to get _YOU_ off my mind.”

Opening his eyes, Tom continued his perusal of the perpetual blackness blanketing the ocean view. “Go to bed, Booker, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Affronted, Booker pulled back his shoulders and stuck out his chest. But the change in posture upset his equilibrium and staggering sideways, he crashed into the balcony railing. Grabbing hold of the wooden barrier, he steadied himself before speaking. “Ish that right? Aren’t you gonna busht my balls firsht? ‘Cause that’s what ya do, innit, Mishter Fuckin’ Perfect? You _always_ have somethin’ to shay.”

Tom remained silent, unwilling to buy into the argument. In the mood for a fight, Booker lurched forward and extending his index finger, he repeatedly stabbed the tip in his lover’s chest. “Well, c’mon, hotshot, give it to me shtraight. Tell me what the oh-sho fuckin’ perfect Hanshon would have done in _MY_ poshision. Tell me. Huh? What would you do? What… would… you… _DO!”_

Slapping Booker’s hand away, Tom’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Quit it, or I’ll knock you on your ass.”

The statement brought a wide grin to Booker’s face and straightening up, his amused gaze wandered over Tom’s slender frame. “You think you can take me?” he taunted, his eyes dancing with merriment. “Okay, tough guy. Let’s shee what you got.”

Getting to his feet, Tom refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he avoided eye contact and headed toward the balcony doors. “Leave me alone.”

Booker sneered at him as he walked past. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know what you are, Hanshon? You’re a spineless peesh of shit. You’re a represhed, uptight, momma’s boy who doeshn’t know when—”

Spinning around, Tom’s arm shot out, his fist catching Booker squarely under the chin. The dark-haired officer’s head snapped back, and he staggered against the railing. With a growl, he lunged forward just as Tom’s fist shot out again, this time landing with a sickening crack on his lover’s nose. Blood spurted from Booker’s nostrils and with a yell, the dark-haired officer covered his face with his hands. “WHAT THE HELL?”

A flicker of remorse passed over Tom’s face, but he stood his ground. “You’re drunk. Go sleep it off. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Before the young officer could walk away, Booker grabbed hold of his arm, his fingers leaving a bloody handprint on his lover’s bare skin. “We’ll talk about it now!”

Pulling away, Tom stormed into the condo and snatching up Booker’s car keys, he headed out the door. “I’m going for a drive.”

Booker lurched after him, his eyes flashing with anger. “If you shteal my Caddy, I shwear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Tom snapped. “Breathe on me and knock me out with the fumes? ‘Cause in the state you’re in, that’s about all you’re capable—”

A fist slammed into the side of Tom’s head, the punch sending him reeling. With a yell, the young officer tumbled down the condo steps, his body coming to rest on the gravel driveway below. Pain exploded behind his eyes, lighting up his mind like fireworks on the fourth of July, and rolling onto his side, he clutched his head in his hands. Muttering a loud groan, a wave of nausea coiled through him, and closing his eyes against the pain, he fought the urge to vomit. His weekend getaway had turned into a bloody war zone, and his muddled mind briefly wondered how far the fight would escalate before one of them backed down.

The crunch of unsteady footsteps on gravel alerted him to his lover’s presence. Even in his intoxicated state, he knew Booker could take him, and preparing his mind for a beating, he lurched to his feet and raised his fists in readiness. “C’mon asshole, let’s finish this.”

But his false bravado was all for nothing. Booker stopped, his drunken gaze attempting to focus on Tom’s swaying body. “You okay?”

Tom stared at Booker’s bloody face for a moment before lowering his hands and giving a slight nod of his head. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ll live,” Booker muttered, his breathing sounding thick and stuffy through his damaged nose. 

Remorse reddened Tom’s face. “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

A shiver of déjà vu snaked down Tom’s spine. He had expressed an identical apology after their last fight, and Booker had echoed the exact same response. Someone had hit the repeat button, and he wondered how many more times they could utter the same worn-out phrases before they lost all meaning. For some inexplicable reason, they were trapped in a perpetual cycle of anger and regret without ever resolving their issues. The foundation of their relationship was a house of cards, built on passion, torn down by egos and rebuilt again using the same damaged substructure. Life with Booker was a tornado of emotion, and as much as he wanted him in his life, he doubted they would ever find the happy ever after fairytale ending they both craved. In fact, he was starting to doubt they would stay friends at all.

With the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes, Booker turned and stumbled up the steps. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Dennis!”

Booker stopped, his lips pursing into a sullen pout. “What?”

“Never mind,” Tom muttered, and lowering his gaze, he waited until he heard the slam of the door before following his lover inside.


End file.
